Chapter Text
Having closed up early, citing peckishness, Aziraphale and Crowley had holed up in their usual spots under the skylight, the gramophone was playing and they had a spread of bread, cheese and pastries lining the coffee table. A comfortable silence had settled upon them – Aziraphale was perusing a newspaper between little plates of food and Crowley had ended up on a pet supplies website.
“Would you like a mince pie?” Aziraphale offered, holding out the tray with a sole icing sugar-dusted treat left from the pack of six that Crowley had purchased earlier that day. He didn’t even like mince pies, but he had correctly assumed that Aziraphale would – and he also thought that he would enjoy a nice wheel of camembert and a fresh loaf of sourdough to go with it, too. It wasn’t Crowley’s fault for going over the top – it was the enthusiastic delicatessen assistant’s fault obviously. They had offhandedly suggested it would be a lovely spread for a festive night in, and Crowley just couldn’t say no to the thought of Aziraphale’s pleased smile when he smelled the tangy aroma of the bread and the complimentary sharpness of the cheese.
All of Aziraphale’s happy noises and exclamations had been well-worth it, so he felt much less like an idiot for buying a bag full of food he didn’t even care for.
“No, ta,” Crowley said distractedly, “Here, what do you think of this?” He pushed himself upright and thrust his phone out towards Aziraphale, having to stretch the distance to pass it over. The multi-tiered, floor-to-ceiling cat tree he had finally settled on would be finicky to build, but he was hoping it would meet Aziraphale’s standards… and Lucifer’s of course.
Aziraphale stowed the tray on the side by his chair and pulled his antique glasses out of his waistcoat pocket, hooking them over his ears in that tragically endearing way that made Crowley’s chest heave with a fond sigh. Why was he so captivated by this man with his grandfatherly ways?
He squinted at the screen, and handed it back to Crowley with a wordless hum and a nod. Crowley grabbed the phone, eyebrows pulled together in confusion. Aziraphale wasn’t usually so subdued when it came to his opinion and Crowley had been sure he would have been keen to help but Aziraphale had already buried his face in the folds of his newspaper. Perhaps he was just engrossed in an article and eager to get back to it?
So later, when Aziraphale had set the paper aside and began to gather the crockery together in a stack, Crowley waved his phone at Aziraphale again, this time displaying something he thought might spark a bit more interest.
“Do you think Luci would tolerate a harness and leash?” He asked, an open grin on his face at the thought of Sunday walks with a large grumpy cat in tow. St. James Park had a great spot for feeding the ducks, there was also an ice cream stand which he thought Aziraphale might appreciate too.
Aziraphale glanced at the screen and shrugged, quickly averting his attention back to his tidying up after their meal. Crowley lowered the phone, his stomach roiling with unease. That had certainly felt like a brush off.
But then again, Aziraphale wasn’t one to give the cold shoulder intentionally. He was far too pure of heart.
“I’ll just add it to the list. It’s always worth a try,” he said casually. “Do you think I have everything I need?”
Again, he brandished his phone, now showing his carefully curated basket of essentials. He was sure Aziraphale would either tease him mercilessly for the lack of colour or fawn over how thorough Crowley had been in his choices – well, he hoped anyway.
Aziraphale gave the mobile a wary look; an almost imperceptible grimace as he dusted off his hands and reached once more to accept it. There was something hesitant in the way he was regarding the phone that put Crowley immediately on edge. He tried to stamp down on the nervous paranoia digging its claws into his chest as he watched Aziraphale scroll.
“Gosh, you are intending to buy all of this?” Aziraphale asked, frowning at the screen as he pulled it right up to his eyes. His tone was indecipherable and that just made Crowley’s grating anxiety burrow that bit deeper.
“Got plenty of room at the flat, might as well make Lucifer feel right at home.” Crowley shrugged, trying to look cooler than he felt as he stretched himself back into the back of the sofa. He had expected excitement, maybe suggestions for more toys and treats he could order – not whatever this was…
“Why don’t you hold off until the January sales? You might find some bargains.” Aziraphale smiled as he passed Crowley’s phone back to him, but there was some strain to it that Crowley couldn’t identify. Maybe he just wasn’t fond of all the black and grey cat beds and furniture that Crowley had saved to his basket? Aziraphale did have an eclectic set up for the cats here. The little black ceramic food bowls Crowley had chosen were a bit out there but they matched the flat and Crowley’s own crockery. Perhaps it was the personalised carry crate that had Lucifer’s name emblazoned with devil wings and tail?
“January? Be a bit late, that, won’t it? Don’t want Luci getting home to an empty cave when he’s come from all this, do we?” Crowley gestured round at the cactus-shaped scratch posts, the cloud-themed hammocks, water fountains that looked liked miniature koi ponds – there wasn’t a cohesive theme, much like the rest of the shop, but it was cosy, and he imagined that the cats were thoroughly enriched by it all. He certainly was when he watched them all leaping from perch to perch, like they were spider monkeys inebriated on nitrous oxide, up in a tree canopy.
“Well, you see – I’m not sure that –” Aziraphale stammered, forehead creased into an etching of concern.
“You’re not sure what?” It was out of Crowley’s mouth before he could soften the blunt edge of his tone. The man’s dithering, whilst mostly amusing, didn’t bode well right now when he was avoiding Crowley’s eye and fussing with the frayed edges of his waistcoat.
“I’m not convinced that either of you are ready to go home together – yet,” Aziraphale muttered into his lap.
Crowley felt a flare of defensive annoyance contort his face. “What? Why not?”
“I just haven’t had sufficient time to witness your proficiency with Lucifer. It would be remiss of me to send you off together without knowing for sure that you were right for each other.” Aziraphale was smiling, but it was fraught and contradicted the panicked crinkle around his eyes.
“Proficiency?”
Aziraphale suddenly rocked up onto his feet and started gesturing into the ether with wide sweeps and waves of his arms as he spoke. “Yes, dear boy, I need to be certain that this is the right match. Lucifer tolerates your presence, yes, but that is hardly the same as a safe and loving bond. So unless you can demonstrate that you two are ready?”
“Easy!” Crowley wrinkled his nose. He let his carefully constructed poise do the work of convincing Aziraphale that he was unfazed by the absence of trust; stretching his arms along the width of the back of the sofa, rolling his neck. Challenge accepted.
Aziraphale’s eyes lit up as they locked back onto him, and Crowley didn’t know if it was the abundant fairy-lights reflecting like stars or if he had somehow hit his head in the last five minutes, but he found himself unable to break away from the eye contact. Like the strike of a flint, Crowley felt something catch, churning his gut and grabbing his heart in a choke hold.
Crowley shrank under the weight of Aziraphale’s gaze, only the staccato of the rain battering the oculus hinted that time continued to tick, heedless of the gravity forming between the pair. Crowley felt himself lingering in the hold of a gaze that felt like the ancient stillness of bluebell woods or the haunting fog on the moors. It was the nameless reverence that made one feel solemn around castle ruins — the sensation of time bearing down, the ghosts of the past preaching carpe diem. Aziraphale towered over him, a monument of everything Crowley had ever wanted. He felt small under the angel’s eyes, a snake squirming at his feet.
“Uh um, right, so what do I have to prove to you?” Crowley asked, trying and failing to speak clearly around the knot of premonition that had formed in his throat.
Aziraphale seemed to falter, as if resisting the recall to their conversation. “Oh,” he said, visibly stumbling over his thoughts. “What about – you could –”
Crowley exhaled slowly, marshalling his vitals into a rhythm more compatible with life as he waited.
“Angel?” he prompted softly when Aziraphale failed to finish his sentence.
“Yes!” Aziraphale shook his head, “I need to see that you are capable of providing dear Lucifer with plenty of enrichment. I saw you had beds and scratch posts on your list, but what about play? There were no toys! A bored cat can cause many headaches.” He tilted his head at Crowley, with his lip provokingly curled out.
“Play? Luci doesn’t play. He’s cool – like me,” Crowley scoffed with a snide grin, desperately trying not to focus on how adorable Aziraphale’s expression was. It was incredibly distracting when he was trying to figure out why Aziraphale was sidetracking him. “He doesn’t need ribbons and yarn to bat around for entertainment.”
“Au contraire –” Aziraphale’s theatrical French accent was abysmal enough to shake Crowley out of his besotted fugue with a snort of hysterical laughter. “Lucifer is quite the predator. He might be partial to a bit of cheese, but woe betide any small creature that crosses his path.”
“Woe betide,” Crowley repeated with a chuckle as Aziraphale rummaged in one of the baskets that overflowed with coloured springs, pom-poms and screwed up balls of paper. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that used in real life before.”
“Here.” Aziraphale brandished a cheap-looking plastic wand with a bright green stuffed mouse hanging from the end of it under Crowley’s nose while his eyes blazed playfully.
“Ugh. Fine.” Crowley snatched it with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, triggering a smug pouting smile from Aziraphale. “Pspsps, Lucifer,” he whisper-called, wriggling the belled mouse along the floor.
“Slowly, dear, you want to entice him with prey that is none the wiser, not some erratic thing scurrying around already spooked. Cats enjoy the pursuit,” Aziraphale chided, and Crowley almost announced that Lucifer wasn’t the only one who enjoyed it, biting his tongue at the last second.
“I’ll show you spooked,” Crowley muttered. He had absolutely no idea what lunacy was spilling from his useless brain, still reeling from that stare – whatever that had been. Never mind the bloody little mouse, Crowley felt the restless pulse of one being hunted under Aziraphale’s watchful eye.
“What was that?” Aziraphale frowned, settling back into his wingbacked chair.
“Nothing.”
He dragged the mouse along the floor again, this time at a snail’s pace, letting it rustle a fraction at a time along the ancient rug.
It took over half an hour of failed attempts, with other cats catching the toy first, but just as Crowley was going to admit defeat, he caught the cat he was trying to lure. Viper-quick, a blur of slate-grey ambushed it, curling around it and thumping with hind-legs to finish off the assassination.
“Well done, Lucifer,” Crowley said with a bark of laughter, tugging the wand slightly to create the illusion of a struggling quarry. Lucifer locked onto the poor blighter with savage fangs, a menacing growl emanating from deep in his chest. Crowley took the hint and dropped the toy, looking up to catch Aziraphale’s glare with a cocky smirk.
“Luck of the devil,” Aziraphale huffed.
Crowley felt his forehead crease. Why did Aziraphale seem irritated by his success? Shouldn’t he be celebrating that his notoriously difficult ward was bonding with a potential adopter? That was the goal, wasn’t it? The sooner he got Lucifer home, the sooner he could alleviate the intolerable loneliness of his flat… and the sooner he could build up the nerve to ask Aziraphale to dinner.
✨
Crowley bustled out onto the street and began to trudge towards the corner shop. It was absolutely baltic and he could have been warm, with a bundle of fluff in his lap, but Aziraphale had insisted that fresh air was imperative to Crowley’s health and that they should be supporting fellow small business owners by shopping in person, rather than feeding monstrous conglomerates like Deliveroo. Whilst he didn’t disagree, Crowley was by nature lazy, and he would still rather be horizontal on the Chesterfield than freezing his bony arse off for cream and sugar…
But Aziraphale was apparently parched and desperately required his eleven-thousandth cup of tea of the day, so off Crowley went like a well-trained dog. He wouldn’t need to top up so often if he didn’t indulge the cats every time they got a whiff of the cream pitcher, he thought with a roll of his eyes.
He had taken no more than ten steps when the ghostly plume of his breath and the way his skin prickled over in goosebumps alerted him to the fact that he had left his blazer behind, so with a huff he spun around and marched back into the shop.
“See, I told you it wouldn’t take long!” Aziraphale announced from somewhere within the shelves; his tone was self-congratulatory and Crowley could imagine the smug smile that accompanied it.
“Barely made it out of the door, just came back for my jacket,” Crowley called back, as he navigated the maze of Aziraphale’s recent organisational mess. He stumbled as he came across Gabriel and Beelzebub who had settled themselves in a shadowed blockade just as he came upon the central seating area.
“Trying to kill me?” he tutted as he stepped over them, with a put-on sneer back at them. Honestly, those two always seemed to be in their own little world, ignorant of anyone or anything else…
Must be nice.
He had left his blazer over the arm of the sofa, and he stopped dead in his tracks as he sought it out – because atop the double-breasted silk garment was a curled up bundle of granite-grey fur. Lucifer’s coat shone like an oil slick, and his nose was thoroughly tucked into his hind; he looked more peaceful than Crowley had ever seen him, and he was sleeping on his jacket.
This had to be a sign that their connection was deepening. It made Crowley’s lungs stutter to a halt; his heart was a battering ram, and he had to bite his lip to stop it from wobbling. He ached to go sink his fingers into all that soft fur, but he would be patient. Things were progressing perfectly and he had no doubt that Lucifer was starting to trust him so he would resist.
Aziraphale needed to see this.
“Angel.” Crowley projected his whisper as much as he dared, desperate not to disturb Lucifer but he was also rooted to the spot.
“Yes, dear?” Aziraphale arrived and stood by him, giving him an expectant look. The sort of look that would usually cause his heart to skip a few beats, but Lucifer commanded every slither of his attention at that moment. He jerked his chin towards the precious scene before them, unwilling to look away, even for Aziraphale and the siren call of his sparkling eyes.
He heard Aziraphale draw in a quiet breath, “Lucifer, you are getting Crowley’s clothes covered in fur!” He scolded. “Don’t worry, my dear, I have a lint roller but I do hope he hasn’t clawed at it, it looks very expensive.”
“It’s Vivienne Westwood,” Crowley answered numbly.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Aziraphale blanch at the implication and take a step forward, intending to shoo Lucifer off. Crowley held out his arm to stop. “Don’t you dare.”
Lucifer suddenly stretched his arms out in front of him, his paws extending as he yawned and then curled himself up even tighter; most of his face was now obscured by his limbs. Crowley was certain he was about to succumb to some sort of coronary explosion because Lucifer just looked so cute and the situation had been so unexpected.
“Well, I shan’t be accepting liability for your dry cleaning invoice once Lucifer’s had his fun,” Aziraphale chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender.
“He can keep it,” Crowley said simply. If Lucifer found comfort in something of Crowley’s, what did it matter what it cost? Money meant nothing when there was such tender joy wrapping ribbons round his heart and tethering Lucifer that much more securely. This was his soul cat, he knew it deep in his bones.
Crowley turned to say as much to Aziraphale and found the words evaporate from his tongue, instantly breathless at the way the other man was looking at him; Aziraphale’s lips were pressed together in a heartfelt smile, brow furrowed with emotion and his eyes were glossy. Aziraphale was stunning and Crowley felt like he was about to burst.
How could he go on without these two now? They were an indelible part of him. It was terrifying how quickly these feelings had developed. How quickly it could all go wrong if he did or said the wrong thing at the wrong time.
The emotions of the moment were abruptly overwhelming enough to make his heart lurch like a spooked horse, and before he did something stupid like kiss the man in front of him, Crowley spun away.
“I’ll get that cream and sugar, eh?” he said on a wheezy breath out, whirling away towards his exit.
“Crowley? Won’t you be cold?”
He shrugged, still choked and dizzy. “I’ll be fine.”
“Stay there, I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” Aziraphale insisted, hurrying away.Crowley would usually leap at the opportunity to mock Aziraphale’s peculiar phrases but he couldn’t summon the wit needed to do so, so he grumbled under his breath, eager to get out into the street and let the icy air knock some sense into him.
“Here you go,” Aziraphale said brightly as he returned; in his hands, he offered a thick-knit cardigan in a fawn shade that Crowley knew immediately would look ridiculous on him.
When Crowley made no move to accept it, Aziraphale huffed and stepped forward to wrap the soft garment around his shoulders. He was being dressed like he was a toddler, but Crowley found himself unable to put a stop to it. Aziraphale was closer than he had ever been before; Crowley could see each long eyelash framing those cosmic eyes, the way the light caught his spun-sugar curls. He wasn’t sure how he kept himself upright, let alone breathing as Aziraphale guided his arms through the woollen sleeves.
“There. My my, you do look – um –” Aziraphale’s throat bobbed with a heavy gulp, and he blinked slowly as he assessed Crowley. There was an odd shine to his eyes but Crowley could only focus on the bloom of rosiness that had spread from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, “It suits you.” There was a hint of a smile flickering at his mouth but it seemed to burn out to embers as they gazed at each other.
“Thanks.” Crowley felt a rolling weight in his chest – his feelings for Aziraphale setting like concrete in the very foundations of his soul. There was nothing he could do now, he was helpless to the white water rapids pulling him along the river of this infatuation. Maybe he’d drown in the biblical flood of it.
Aziraphale cleared his throat and patted his back, starting to guide them both towards the door. Had he been as dazed as Crowley? Had the tenderness making Crowley’s insides squirm been mutual? He couldn’t be certain; every thought in his head had pivoted when sensing the angel’s scent woven into the fabric that he now wore. Burnt sugar and vanilla — like a crème brûlée, Crowley imagined; and despite his lack of a sweet tooth, his mouth watered as he inhaled the heady aroma. He could spend a lifetime enjoying that scent.
Maybe he’d conveniently forget to return the cardigan…
✨
Later that week, while Aziraphale busied himself with paperwork at his desk, Crowley was left to his own devices and fell down a bottomless rabbit-hole of cat husbandry. There were basic things that he already knew, but he was invested in doing his due diligence, lest Aziraphale bring up any more challenges or general knowledge quizzes in order to win the right to adopt Lucifer.
“Angel?” he called, still scrolling through the numerous tabs of research he had open. No answer came from the direction of the desk, so he looked up, catching Aziraphale in a moment of contemplation that took Crowley’s breath away.
Ashen winter light flooded over Aziraphale’s face from above, a column of diluted sunshine illuminating the creases of concentration between his eyebrows, the slight purse of his cupid’s bow – he was sublime and it accentuated what Crowley already knew: that he wanted to stay in Aziraphale’s orbit forever.
“Sorry, dear, did you say something?” Aziraphale was suddenly locked on to his smitten gaze, returning it with a small, curious smile and tilted head – it was an expression that made Crowley want to stride across the gap between them, curl his fingers around that soft jaw and pull the angel into a kiss that said all the things that Crowley would struggle to say. Things like: I never knew when I walked in here that I would never want to leave and I was looking for a feline companion, somehow I also found someone that I can imagine growing old and grey with.
“Yeah, uhh –” Crowley coughed, clearing the prematurity from his throat. “Is Lucifer chipped?” Wary of getting trapped in the snare of Aziraphale’s attention, Crowley turned away to watch as Alfur groomed himself. Focusing on the rhythmic motions was grounding and helped settle the swirl of confession that had permanently lodged itself behind his Adam’s apple.
“Yes, of course, all the cats are chipped, neutered, and up to date with their vaccinations.”
“‘Kay good, good,” Crowley sniffed, desperately hunting for a brain cell that was capable of conversation that wasn’t already absorbed by his infatuation with Aziraphale. “Was making a list of stuff I have to get done. Even got myself a Pinterest board, full of catios and such – I’ve got a balcony that I can make safe for him at home, but I think he’d love the fresh air, rather than the smog of London. I pinned a few countryside cottages, in the South Downs. Maybe someday.” He was babbling now. Nonsensical, throwaway thoughts spilling from his throat in an effort to hold back what he really wanted to say.
“You – you’d move out of London?” Aziraphale sounded choked, panicked, like his tea had gone down the wrong pipe. “For Lucifer?”
“What? No. Not imminently anyway.” Crowley shook his head, a rampant rush of blood whistling in his ears.
It wasn’t like he could make the fantasy a reality without Aziraphale anyway. He had seen apple trees, a garden full of wildflowers, a wide open view of the sea and the uninterrupted vista of stars at night. There would be space for Lucifer and Aziraphale, for stalking real mice in the garden and every room lined with bookshelves. Any dream Crowley could imagine now came with the non-negotiable presence of his cat and his angel.
“Oh. Right. It’s just that I like to check in on adoptees to ensure they are settled. It would be quite the journey to the South Downs,” Aziraphale said with a mechanical laugh.
He really was acting strangely recently, Crowley thought; first the air of irritation when he had managed to play with Lucifer, now the panic over the thought of him moving away? Maybe he was overthinking it. It wouldn’t be the first – or last – time he read into something that wasn’t there.
“You’re always welcome to visit my place, angel,” Crowley said, immediately regretting how forward it sounded. He swiped a hand over his face, feeling a flash flood of warmth in his cheeks.
“Thank you.” Aziraphale’s voice took on an odd timbre – nostalgic somehow in its softness, the undertone of embarrassment calling upon some memory that Crowley could not connect right then. He had whiplash.
✨
It was a frosty day, starbursts of ice rapidly forming over the Bentley’s windshield as the engine cooled and Crowley watched them. He wasn’t avoiding anything, just delaying the conversation he had rehearsed in his head for the last few days.
Today was Aziraphale’s last trading day of the year before he shut down the shop and the rescue operations until after the new year. Something about Aziraphale’s casual announcement of the fact last week had set off a countdown in Crowley’s head – he had irrationally convinced himself that now was the time to request formal adoption of Lucifer… and to ask Aziraphale if he would like to go to dinner with him. He just couldn’t wait any longer.
For the thirtieth time that morning, he checked the backseat, mentally ticking off the inventory: Lucifer’s pimped out carrier, the little paper bag with a wedge of exorbitantly expensive Yorkshire cheddar that he’d bought in a moment of madness, and a bottle of Talisker to celebrate (or numb himself, depending on Aziraphale’s answer) later on. He had spent the evening before unboxing and building the cat trees (there were three – he just couldn’t decide in the end), setting up the two litter trays, filling a cupboard with food and treats and rearranging the many beds, blankets and cuddle caves he had ordered. He knew he was prepared for Lucifer’s arrival – he just needed to work on his courage on the Aziraphale side of things.
He had planned to work on the adoption process first – that way, if he had misinterpreted all of Aziraphale’s affectionate looks and the burgeoning interest between them, he could just bundle Lucifer into his carrier and hightail it out of there – he had resigned himself to the single, cat-dad life long before he had met Aziraphale; surely he could settle back into that familiar territory of thinking if it did go pear-shaped.
Craning his neck to look up at the shop, he was reminded of the first time he parked here, clueless. He felt a bit like that now… on the verge of something and not knowing what.
Crowley sighed – now or never. Not giving his head another opportunity to spin off into endless quandaries and hypotheticals, he flung the car door open right into the path of a swirling gust of snowflakes. Usually one to stop and stare at the enchanting whimsy of rare London snow flurries, Crowley barely saw them, storming his way over to the shop door and throwing it open with all the force of a neurotic hurricane.
“Aziraphale?” He called as he usually did.
“Crowley?” Aziraphale answered, and Crowley heard the groan of his old desk chair as he rose to meet him. There was concern pulling the angel’s tone taut, and Crowley wondered what Aziraphale had heard in his voice to make him fret. Maybe he had worked himself up just a bit too much. He needed to calm down if he was going to get this right.
“Hi.” Crowley felt out of breath, his tongue as arid as the Sahara as Aziraphale came into view. He really, really did not want to muck this up.
“Hello, dear boy. Are you all right?” Aziraphale asked with a tilt to his head and Crowley could feel the careful scrutiny as Aziraphale’s eyes swept over him. That should be promising, but Crowley just couldn’t shake the churning in his stomach. The stakes were just so high.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” he said with an unconvincing croak. He frowned at his feet as he willed himself to just get on with it – rip the bandage off. The anticipation was always worse than whatever laid ahead.
“Are you quite sure? You do look awfully flushed.” Did Aziraphale know what that soft caring voice did to Crowley? How it made him glow from the inside out?
“S’cold outside. Snowing, I think,” he muttered, hooking a thumb over his shoulder towards the door.
“Oh,” Aziraphale said, his eyes widening excitedly, “is it really? I really do enjoy snow, you know.” He was already spinning away from Crowley, gravitating to the nearest window. “I wonder if we’ll get a white Christmas, wouldn’t that be so magical, dear? I hope I have enough hot chocolate in the pantry.”
“Yeah. Look, um, angel, seeing as though it’s your last open day, I was thinking I could get Lucifer home today? And with the snow, y’know?” Crowley stumbled through every syllable, gesturing at a stray cupid statue for some reason in his haste to get through his request.
Aziraphale had been effervescent in his blind-twitching, admiring the soft tufts of snow as they diluted the grey skies of London; but at Crowley’s words, he sagged like a marionette with his strings cut, shoulders drooping with his arms and Crowley immediately hated himself for dousing that innocent joy.
His stomach twisted uncomfortably when Aziraphale sighed heavily, casting his eyes down to the slushy pavement, rather than the confetti-strewn heavens above. This didn’t look promising.
“Crowley, must we rush this? We don’t want to go too fast for Lucifer.” Aziraphale sounded weary, like he’d had a hard day and was being tasked with something arduous and unnecessary. Was that how he felt about Crowley? Was he a burden – merely tolerated?
But no… Too fast? Crowley had been slowly winning the cat’s trust for weeks. He had never been this patient in any pursuit in his entire life, and Aziraphale thought he was still rushing ahead? In fact, the man had been hesitant for a while now – always coming up with new milestones, always conveniently changing the topic when the subject of adoption came up. Crowley needed to get to the bottom of it right now – the countdown alarm was blaring in his head.
“Angel. What’s going on? Why don’t you want me to take Lucifer?” Crowley sighed, he felt like he needed to sag down onto the floor with his head in his hands so he could hide from the awful tension of standing off in the foyer.
“It’s not that I don’t want you to take him home,” Aziraphale said with great difficulty, fidgeting with his hands as he spoke and looking anywhere but in Crowley’s direction.
“Then what is it? I’ve jumped through your hoops, danced to your tune, and won the heart of the little devil but none of it seems to have won you over.” He knew he sounded desperate – pathetic even – but something had snapped and he just wanted to know where he stood with Aziraphale.
Aziraphale’s mouth opened and closed a few times, grasping for words as his cheeks started to flood with colour. “It’s not you, Crowley, it’s –” Aziraphale blurted out, before losing steam and frustratedly scrubbing his hands over his eyes.
“I don’t know what to think, angel,” Crowley said with a shake of his head, defeated by the tempest dashing him against the rocks.
“It’s just difficult, Crowley,” Aziraphale said plaintively. Why couldn’t he just say what he really thought?
Crowley knew deep down that it was probably bittersweet for Aziraphale to watch his cats go on to new homes, but wasn’t that the point? There had been ample time for Aziraphale to come to terms with Lucifer leaving… But oh – Lucifer had been with Aziraphale for such a long time and Aziraphale had even said on their first meeting that he never thought Lucifer would leave. They were probably bonded and Crowley had just been barreling ahead, bull in a china shop trashing an established attachment, all while fantasising about taking Aziraphale out for sushi dinner dates and one day waking up to Lucifer cosying up to him.
What a bloody fool Crowley felt.
A gust of a breath left him and he deflated, “Oh, oh. I’m sorry, Aziraphale. I didn’t consider how hard it would be for you to let go of Lucifer after all this time.”
“Yes,” Aziraphale breathed, “It is always difficult to let go of any of the cats – they all become so dear to me – but this adoption… is especially hard.”
Crowley filled his lungs, blowing up his cheeks with a steadying breath and let it go slowly, giving himself a moment to figure out how to leave with his dignity. At his core, he had always been an optimist, but the potential impact of this moment fractured even his half-full glass.
“But, my dear,” Aziraphale said with heartbreaking tenderness, “It’s not just Lucifer.” He held his hands out at his sides in a beseeching gesture, “I would find it untenable to let go of you too.” His voice was thready and Aziraphale’s eyes swam for a moment before he rushed to inhale shakily and spin away, avoiding Crowley’s intense gaze. “These last few weeks have been such a joy. I admit that I have come to rely on your company as one of the things I look forward to most in a day – and well, it will be quite a task to go back to normal after that.”
Crowley found himself rushing to take a breath, relief washing over him like cleansing rain. Aziraphale didn’t want to lose Crowley’s companionship either. But did Aziraphale want a platonic relationship, or something more?
Perhaps misinterpreting Crowley’s silence as annoyance, Aziraphale continued, “I never meant to deceive you in my misguided attempts to prolong our time together. It was never malicious – only selfish, I’m afraid. I just… didn’t want to lose you.”
“Why do you have to?” he asked, with a sly smile creeping over his features, watching Aziraphale’s face morph into bewilderment as he tried to parse Crowley’s question. He felt giddy and couldn’t hold it back.
“Pardon?” Aziraphale frowned, taken off guard,
“Let’s go get dinner, angel.” He was shocked by the softness of his own voice, how it divulged so much of how he felt. How had he got this far without confessing how hopelessly he adored his angel?
“I would love to,” Aziraphale said breathlessly, stepping towards Crowley with a beatific smile lighting up the contours of his beloved face. Crowley almost reached for the sunglasses in his jacket pocket – Aziraphale was luminescent.
More than he had ever been before, Crowley was overwhelmed by the desire to kiss Aziraphale silly. His heart was vibrating against his ribcage and his stomach swirling like seasickness, but he willed himself to ask; until Aziraphale spoke first:
“May I kiss you, Crowley?” Aziraphale sounded shy, unsure of the reception his request would receive.
Words stuck fast in his throat and Crowley could only silently close the distance between the pair, sinking into the magnetic warmth of Aziraphale’s slowly-relaxing gaze. Their eyes met, a brief check in passing unheard and then Crowley’s fingers slid over Aziraphale’s jaw, grazing the feather-soft curls that lay around his ears with reverence he didn’t know he possessed. The world fell away as soon as their lips touched; the persistent hum of traffic on the street muted, the golden lamplight lost to the barrier of eyelids closed in elation. Aziraphale’s mouth pressing against his was all there was in the world. Oblivious to the passage of time, they kissed tenderly, exchanging ballads in the slide of lips and cradling of each other.
Crowley had thought that if he were to win Aziraphale over, the nervous thrum that had plagued his body for the last few weeks would have ceased – but impossibly, the symptoms seemed to amplify. It should have been unbearable but Crowley couldn’t imagine anything better than Aziraphale’s broad hands pressed into his shoulderblades, the sweet happy hum he made as he kissed Crowley. He could have stayed in that embrace forever if it weren’t for the insistent weight bumping up against his shins.
Reluctantly, he and Aziraphale parted. Crowley’s lips were buzzing as he glanced down at the intrusion; his heart immediately went from a sprint to a crawl – Lucifer stood between their legs, looking up at them expectantly with a calm, swish of his tail.
“I think someone is ready to go home,” Aziraphale murmured, with a serene smile. He pulled Crowley into a half hug as they both watched Lucifer who blinked slowly as he settled into his signature sitting pose with his tail wrapped around his paws.
“But first, would my two boys like some sushi?” Crowley grinned.